


Snowstorm

by poindexters



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, aggressive flirting, just bros being gay, lots of eye sex, when ur friend has the most obscure ship on the planet but ur in it to win it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindexters/pseuds/poindexters
Summary: Between the pressure from his coach to remain in the closet and the emergence of his ex-something into the NHL, Kent finds himself in the peculiar position of falling for another Falconer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Carissa, the greatest editor in the world, and the only person who would request a fic for such a wonderfully obscure pairing.

Kent slid effortlessly behind the wheel of his Porsche, slamming the door behind him a little too hard. It was winter, but the windowless locker room felt hot and claustrophobic, and all Kent wanted to do was leave, drive away, push all the microphones being shoved in his face and run. Jack was just another player, and Kent had been doing this longer.

_X_

“I don’t see why you’re on my ass; we won the game didn’t we?”

“What you did was fucking reckless. What if you got injured?!” Coach Matheson paced the empty hall, stopping every few steps to rub at his temples.

“I made a call. Sure it was risky, but you know how I play. I’m captain for a fucking reason, aren’t I?”

“Parson.”

Kent sighed.

“Don’t do it again.”

_X_

Snow began to fall softly on his windshield, knocking Kent out of his daze. He couldn’t seem to remember just how long he’d been sitting there, but the parking lot was deserted and the gray-blue sky had begun it’s descent from peach, to pink, to navy.

 _Nearly deserted_ , Kent corrected himself. A beautiful ’68 Camaro was still parked a few rows in front of him. The snow made it difficult to tell, but he was pretty sure it was empty. It either belonged to a rich car-enthusiast hockey-fan, or just another player.

 _Same thing_ , Kent thought.

He didn’t recognize it as any of the Aces’, but he’d been a lot more distant recently. The little details had started slipping him by more and more.

A few moments later Kent was startled by the sound of someone tapping at his window. The snow had formed a thin blanket over the glass, and Kent found himself peeking through the hole left by the person’s finger.

“It might be easier if you roll your window down,” said a low voice Kent was sure he’d heard before.

“Did I leave my high beams on or do you just want an autograph?” Kent said as he pressed the switch imbedded in the door.

“Neither,” Snowy was standing an inch away, one arm in a sling, the other resting on the roof of Kent’s Porsche. His cool blue eyes betrayed the tone of his voice.

“No offense, but I don’t fight off the ice,” Kent’s eyes drifted to the sling, then back up to the scruff on Snowy’s face and the thin cut that ran along his cheekbone.

“I’m not here to fight,” Snowy shook his head, “no matter how much I want to smash your pretty little face in.”

“Admittedly that’s one of the better decisions you’ve made since turning down the Aces,” Kent laughed. “Sorry about your arm, and your… that,” Kent gestured vaguely to Snowy’s cheek. “Wait, did you just call me pretty? Last time I checked I was a ‘fucking cockstain.’”

The snow was beginning to drift into the car, landing softly on the arm of Kent’s coat before melting into little droplets. Snowy lowered his gaze and took a deep breath.

“What are you playing at, Parson?” He said after a moment of silence. “I’m not one to give a shit, but-“

“I was fucking reckless, I know, now if you’ll excuse me-”

“You’re a good player.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re a good player and a great captain. The Aces are shitheads at the best of times, but facing off against Zimmermann, well... you play like an asshole but you feel more… real. Less like a rock star more like a person.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” Snowy took his arm off the roof and began walking towards the Camaro.

“Wait!” Kent called, throwing open the door and jogging to catch up. “Let me buy you dinner,” he said. He was walking backwards against the wind. They were roughly the same height, but next to Snowy Kent gave off the distinct impression of a high school boy asking his crush out on a date. He liked feeling like this, softer, as though all his hard edges had slowly whittled away. It was good for him. Some days he found it hard to remember that light existed beyond his four walls. “I kind of owe you one.”

“Dinner? With you?” Snowy’s voice was incredulous, but a smile was already forming at the corner of his mouth. “Is the great Kent Parson really asking the _enemy_ on a date?”

“Who said anything about a date? Let me buy you dinner first,” Kent stopped walking and Snowy nearly ploughed into him. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a maybe.”

“Can I maybe pick you up at eight?” Kent couldn’t help but notice the warmth behind Snowy’s eyes.

“Well I might be staying on West Flamingo, 4381. Be sharp.”

“I might be,” Kent flashed his press-winning smile and gave Snowy a short nod before stepping out of the way and heading back to his Porsche.

_X_

Kent nearly had a heart attack when he rolled up on West Flamingo that night. He’d seen Snowy in a suit before, but this? Dark hair swept back and only a hint of stubble made his heart-rate quicken like he was in the middle of a shoot-out.

“Wow,” Kent said once Snowy was comfortably in the passenger seat.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me off the ice,” Snowy laughed.

“In this context?” Kent bit his lip in the least subtle way possible.

“Shut up and drive Parson, I guess you don’t look too bad yourself.”

“You guess? Boy, I’m fucking _killing_ it,” Kent gestured intently at the outfit he’d picked out: a little Gucci, a little Armani, and a fuck ton of hairspray to smooth his cowlick into submission.

The restaurant was twenty minutes away, and a large portion of that time was spent trying to determine whether their teasing was just chirping or if it had crossed the border into flirting territory.

_X_

The restaurant was beautiful, a tiny hole-in-the-wall Italian place that specialized in the art of pasta. And it _was_ an art, as far as Kent was concerned. Giancarlo’s, as it was called, was the most popular with the locals and the hipsters that did their research. Kent knew Giancarlo personally, and called that afternoon to reserve a private table.

“So, if you could have dinner with any historical figure, who’d’ya choose?” Kent said as he picked absentmindedly at his fettuccini.

“ _Any_ historical figure?”

“Any.”

“Barbra Streisand,” Snowy said without hesitation.

“You know she’s not dead, right?”

“You didn’t say they had to be dead!”

“Well they can’t exactly be historical if they’re alive now can they?”

“What, you’ve never seen Yentl? Barbra made her _own_ history, and if you can’t appreciate that then I guess it’s all up to me.”

“What a hard life you lead,” Kent said sarcastically.

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows… you should know that better than most,” Snowy’s eyes momentarily flitted to Kent’s lips. They both fell quiet.

“I have a feeling we’re not talking about Barbra Streisand anymore,” Kent said after a moment. Snowy ran his tongue along his upper teeth. He looked like he wanted to say something; he just wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

“You and Jack…”

“Snow…”

“C’mon it’s been killing me,” Snowy’s face was genuine, but Kent had long since forgotten what it felt like to trust someone.

“It’s not my place,” he said.

Snowy sighed, “Fair enough, I shouldn’t have pushed.” Silence fell between them again. The restaurant buzzed around them, and it felt as though they were in a bubble in the center of a garlic scented ocean. They finished their meal in the muted din of restaurant noise, only half aware of the clinking glasses, sparkling laughter and droning conversation going on around them.

_X_

The city street was busy with half-drunk party-goers. The neon signs that littered the downtown core, advertising a chance, a dream, a lifestyle, didn’t reach this far out, but every once in a while a sleazy motel offering its vacancy scattered its fluorescent light over the pavement.  It wasn’t particularly late, but even during the day Vegas maintained a surrealistic feel that was unlike anything Kent had ever experienced.

“I’m sorry if I ruined things,” Snowy said, voice soft. “I know we didn’t idle on the subject long, but I shouldn’t have brought ‘em up in the first place.”

“It’s alright, Snow,” Kent laughed.

“No, I mean it. Who the hell asks about tabloid gossip on a first date anyway? Sure-fire way to lose your chance at a second.”

“What makes you think there won’t be a second date?” Kent asked.

“Will there?” Snowy raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Kent said. They walked some more in silence. “It’s tempting though. There are so many players in the NHL, and you think, _at least one in ten_ , right? _At least one in ten has got to be_.”

“I’m sure they are,” Snowy said.

“Then why hasn’t anyone come out yet?”

“Why haven’t you?”

“It’s not that simple,” Kent shook his head, “I could ask you the same question.”

“It’s not that simple,” Snowy mimicked.

“What are we afraid of?” Kent said after a moment, more to himself than anything. The car was still a few blocks away, but he stopped in his tracks, urging Snowy to look at him. “The world is changing, progressing, we’re more open now than we’ve been in the past two thousand years, but I still reserve a private table _just_ in case someone sees me on a date with a man. I’m still forced back into the closet by every goddamn hockey coach that thinks a vital part of me will ‘make for bad PR.’ If I want to kiss my date in the middle of the fucking street, I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Snow,” Kent said tentatively, as though he were weighing his options. “What if someone-”

“Why. Not?” Snowy pressed, not taking his eyes off of Kent. He stepped forward, cupping the side of Kent’s face with his good hand. They were in the middle of the sidewalk, only inches apart. Snowy raised his eyebrows, asking for permission. All or nothing.

“Fuck it,” Kent said, wrapping his arms around Snowy’s waist and pressing their lips together as though he had been living for this one moment. Snowy melted into Kent’s rhythm. He was a fast learner, and it didn’t take him long to master this game. When they finally broke apart, they were breathing heavily against each other’s skin.

“You kiss like you play hockey, Parson,” Snowy chuckled.

“Tired already?” Kent laughed, “we haven’t even finished the first period yet.”


End file.
